


Brothers (Sequel to "My Girl")

by jscribbles



Series: My Girl (Series) [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deals with aspects of Depression, Gen, PTSD/RTS, Panic Attacks, Post-Hell Issues, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 02:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: Something happened to Dean that's altered his behaviour and Sam wants to know what it is. He enlists the help of Castiel, who knows more than he'd let on. Together, they try to get Dean to open up.(Sequel to "My Girl")





	Brothers (Sequel to "My Girl")

**Author's Note:**

> Title: "Brothers", sequel to 'My Girl'  
> Author: jscribbles  
> Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel  
> Trigger Warnings: Non-Con, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, PTSD/RTS, Post-Hell Issues, Deals with aspects of Depression  
> Genre: Angst, H/C, Gen  
> Word Count: Approx. 9000 words.  
> Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, I make no profit from this.  
> Summary: Something happened to Dean that's altered his behavior and Sam wants to know what it is. He enlists the help of Castiel, who knows more than he'd let on. Together, they try to get Dean to open up.  
> A/N: Because I can never leave well enough alone, here is a comforty/angsty sequel to 'My Girl'. I have trouble leaving my boys hurt without enough comfort, so here goes - although this comfort ended u turning into an angst-fest as well... er... It should also be mentioned that I did my best to research RTS, depression, PTSD and panic attacks as best as I could, but if I mis-represent or under-represent anything, then I apologize and want to make it clear that any offense was unintentional.

“We need to talk about Dean.”  
  
They were the first words Castiel heard after he landed softly on the plush motel carpet. His wings had barely finished flapping and tucking themselves snug against his body before Sam spoke. The tone of Sam's voice had Castiel staring worriedly at the back of Sam's body, watching him unclasp his hands and watching his tall, gangly body rise up from the floor by his bed. His prayer had been so loud and so desperate it still echoed slightly in Cas' head.  
  
“I'm here, Sam. Talk. What about Dean?” Castiel asked.  
  
Sam turned to face the angel, his heavy brows furrowed, his mouth turned down at the corners. His green eyes shone as he looked around the room, stalling, hesitating, before they rested on Castiel's face, his emotions plain as day in them, a whirl of fear and determination.  
  
“I think something happened to him.”  
  
The declaration came out of Sam like it was punched out of him, all spoken in the same rush of air. Even though he had never seen Sam as a child except for pictures in Dean's wallet, Castiel could almost see the scared little brother peering out from behind Sam's eyes, a little boy desperate to know what the adults were talking about.  
  
Castiel tried to remain impassive, but his feet shifted in that nervous way they did whenever he tried to hide things from the Winchesters. Yes, something had happened to Dean. But he had promised he wouldn't tell. The way Sam stared at him, partially accusing, partially desperate signalled that Sam was fully aware Castiel knew what happened to Dean.  
  
Trying to plead, Sam offered, “He's acting really weird. He spends like an hour in the bathroom, showering.”  
  
Castiel rolled his eyes a bit. “Sam, your brother isn't weird because he enjoys long showers. It would be weird if he was performing ritual animal sacrifices over the toilet. That would merit calling me down to earth.”  
  
Sam turned red, his shining eyes looking embarrassed for one moment before he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at him. Perhaps it was growing apparent to him that Castiel had picked up a thing or two from Dean, and didn't appreciate his attempt at dark humour to veer off subject.  
  
“Stop being a dick and just listen to me!” Sam snapped. He ran his hands through his hair nervously. Then he let them fall to his sides, looking slightly defeated. Castiel felt shamed immediately.  
  
Sam continued, trying again. “He – he spends so long in the shower and I don't think he knows, or maybe he doesn't think I can hear him, but I've caught him puking a couple times. Or at least over hearing.” He added, swallowing thickly. “He tries to drown it out with the shower going but I can still hear it.  
  
\- - -  
  
_Dean knew it was time to shut off the water, but there was not enough will left in him to make him leave the bathroom. The air was no longer steamy, the water freezing cold as it pounded down against the rubber mat that lined the bottom of their motel bathtub. Dean leaned against the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, his arms wrapped tight around his middle, fingers digging into his ribs. He was leaned forward slightly, as though he couldn't stand straight, or something was hurting him and preventing him from moving.  
  
Truth was he could move, if he wanted to. Physically, he could put one foot in front of the other and walk. He could uncurl himself and stand up straight. He could very well slide his pants on, put on his socks, and slid his shirt over his head, if he wanted to. He had the capability of putting his rings on his fingers and tying his bracelets around his wrists like every other normal day.  
  
Except this wasn't a normal day. He hadn't had a normal day for ... Jesus, how long has it been? He put on a brave face, slapped on a grin, told every joke he could, but truth was Dean had no idea what day it was, what time it was, or what city they were even in. He hadn't paid attention to any of that since _ that _night. Castiel had helped him lay down that night after his ra... his_  incident, _he'd pulled the covers over his head, and caressed two angelic fingers over his jaw to mojo him to sleep, but when he'd woken up the next morning, Dean felt numb inside.  
  
It was not a normal day, it hadn't been for a while. Dean didn't want to put on his shoes, button up a shirt, or even leave the fucking bathroom. He wanted to stand there against the sink, curled forward and hugging himself for as long as humanly possible – until he starved and died on the cold tile flooring that was chipped in the corners.  
  
He felt dizzy, nauseous, tired. Keeping a front for Sam's sake was wearing on him. It had been wearing on him since Hell. Four years of pretending everything was okay. He'd been getting so good at it, to the point where he had almost convinced himself that he might actually recover... and then that vampire, that monster had to... to...  
  
Dean turned around and lifted the toilet seat in one swift movement, just in time as he vomited into the toilet, his knuckle gripping the cheap plastic lid firm and the arm around his stomach tightening, his fingernails digging into his ribs.  
  
Dean gasped, desperate for air, gagging. For a moment, he was gagging so horribly he couldn't breathe. His body responded by hammering his heart against his chest and breaking him out in a sweat. He tried to tell himself to breathe but all his could do was try to empty his stomach. He briefly wondered if this was the day he died, suffocating over a toilet, saliva and bile dripping from his mouth, tears and snot running down his face. How heroic.  
  
Truth was, his heart was pounding and his stomach was squeezing, vomit pouring from his mouth again and nothing in the word could make him care. He didn't care if he died, if he choked right there. He just cared that Sammy found him. Well, he cared enough to live so that Sammy_  wouldn't _find him. That's what his life was about, right? Save Sam. Defend Sam. Run the shower so Sam couldn't hear him suffering, so Sam didn't know that he'd been beaten and r-- and overpowered, and he had just given up, had just let it happen. 'cause if Sammy knew then it would be a real problem and no longer just another thing Dean dealt with alone.  
  
At all costs, Dean could never let Sam find out about this. Sam could never find out because Dean dealt with his weaknesses on his own.  
  
If Sammy knew that Dean was fucked up, if Sam knew Dean could barely hold himself together, his whole life was pointless, wasn't it?_  
  
\- - -  
  
Castiel didn't budge, but he did feel his stomach sink a bit.  
  
“Maybe he's sick. You should take him to the doctor.” He suggested. Castiel bunched a fist in his pocket, his shame eating at him. He was being deliberately unhelpful and it hurt so much worse when Sam was staring at him like he was letting him down, like he had hoped Castiel would help him. With Bobby gone, maybe he was the only one who could help him with Dean. Castiel looked away from Sam's face and instead focused somewhere over his shoulder.  
  
But Sam looked away anyway and shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. I don't think so. I asked him about it one time and he flat out denied it, said I was hearing things. Look, when I say he's acting weird... I don't know. He's Dean, he's himself. He still eats a ton and checks out girls and still tries to humour his way out of everything, but when he thinks I don't notice, he kind of... shuts off.”  
  
Sam reached up to run his hands through his hair and then realized what he was doing, bringing them back down to his sides. With fists balled, he strode past Cas and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, running is hands up and down his thighs, finally looked up at Cas again.  
  
“It's kind of like when he got back from Hell except his mood swings this time are insane. He's really happy one second – I mean _really happy._ Let's-go-to-Disney-Land happy.” Sam shrugged and tossed his hands into the air, “And then he's quiet for a long time. I would say 'sad' almost, but Dean doesn't get sad, does he?” Sam said, in a specific tone that had them both exchanging a mutual look of understanding. No, Dean never got 'sad', he just shoved 'sad' so far down into himself that he normally just forgot it. It was Dean's life. Constantly repressing sadness until the repressing was making him sad.  
  
\- - -  
  
_“Dude, will you slow down?”  
  
Dean looked up from his food, a forkful of cheery pie floating precariously just inches from his lips. Dean rolled his eyes and shoveled it into his mouth.  
  
“Shddpuh, Smm.” Dean murmured around a mouthful of pastries. He swallowed loudly, making Sam cringe. In response, Dean grinned, all toothy. “You're just jealous that I get to be open about my love for delicious, sugary treats while you eat salads and fruit. Don't think I don't hear you sneaking Snicker bars into your ugly mouth behind my back.”  
  
“I do not! I... oh, shut up. At least I don't eat them like I'm starving.”  
  
“You are starving, Sam. Sorry, I mean, eat up. Gotta have that real filling salad to hold you up for the next couple of hours.” Dean mocked, even going as far as to stab his cherry and crumb covered fork into a couple pieces of Sam's salad and shoving it into his mouth to emphasize his point. “Mmmm, oregano. I'm converted, Sammy. Sign me up for the hipster diet. Tell me, do I get a free pair of skinny jeans and Ray Bans upon registration?”  
  
Sam struggled not to smile. He shook his head and made a rude gesture with his hand at his brother as he slid out of his seat.  
  
“Whatever, Ronald McDonald. You're such a dick. I'm going to the bathroom. Grab the cheque if the waitress walks by.”  
  
Dean sliced his fork through his pie, scooping up a giant piece and hovering it in the air before he glanced a Sam and nodded. “Yeah, take your time with that poop. I'm gonna grab her number, too.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. He left their booth and strode into the restroom, exhaling slowly. He had meant to talk to Dean today – just to ask him if he was all right. He'd been dreading it all day, trying to find any excuse to avoid it. Dean had been off the whole week, every since that vampire tried to bite him, but today he seemed fine. Maybe he was feeling better, everything was fixing itself. Everyone had off days.  
  
Two minutes later, Sam pushed open the restroom door, walking towards their table. He stopped though, watching Dean from across the diner. His brother had yet to notice him. Sam ducked back so he was partially hidden by the counter, but it wasn't like Dean was going to notice him anyway. With a horrible sinking of his stomach, Sam watched his brother. He took in the slump of his shoulders. He saw Dean rest his head in his propped up hand, his fingertips running over his hairline, slightly hiding his eyes.  
  
Dean looked _ tired.  _He looked exhausted to the bone. If Sam didn't know any better, he looked... sad. His green eyes just stared, they stared across the table where Sam had been sitting, looking but not seeing. His mouth and jaw tense up, then relaxed, like... like he was trying not to cry or .... something, like to hold himself together. But Sam knew better... right?  
  
Sam was about to stride right over and demand to know what was wrong, when the waitress slid up next to Dean and said something. Sam watched their exchange, saw how Dean suddenly smiled and sat up straight, replying with something no doubt flirtatious. However his eyes were unchanging, still emptier, still sad. To Sam's dismay, Dean handed her a couple bills and their exchange ended. Dean looked away, eyes glazed over. No phone number, no long, drawn out borderline-uncomfortable flirt.  
  
Sam stayed hidden for a beat, then he walked out into plain sight, crossed the dinner and sat down in front of Dean.  
  
His brother perked up and made some joke about green poop. Sam nodded and played along, but he realized with a pang in his heart that no light had returned to his brother's eyes. Sam wondered how he'd missed it. _  
  
\- - -  
  
Sam rested his elbows on his knees, continuing, his face scrunching up as he murmured, “And then he got so angry on our last hunt. There were three ghouls. He... Cas, he ripped them apart. He was so pissed, he kept just beating the last one until I grabbed him and pulled him off of it. He was just ... he was livid. And then he shut off again afterwards. Didn't talk for the rest of the night.”  
  
Every impulse in Castiel was telling him to tell Sam what happened, but every time he thought to open his mouth, he heard Dean.  _“If you tell him, I won't be able to handle this.”_  
  
Castiel remained silent, which seemed to suit Sam, because he continued, scratching at his forehead, looking lost in thought.  
  
“Then that night, it was like three in the morning, I woke up and the bathroom light was on. He doesn't know I heard, but... he was having some kind of panic attack.”  
  
Alarms went off in Castiel mind. He stepped towards Sam, slowly, his trench coat swinging around his knees slowly and then tucking over the edge of the bed as he sat down beside Sam, staring at the side of his head fiercely, asking, “What?”  
  
\- - -  
  
_Dean didn't wake up with a start. He didn't wake up in a cold sweat or with a horrible gasping breath from a night terror. Dean woke up abruptly, but calmly. It was as if someone had turned a switch on and he'd woke up. His eyes took a long time to open. He'd hoped that his body might just slip back into unconsciousness.  
  
There was no such luck. He was awake now in the night, staring into the pitch black darkness. Behind his eyes there was a headache so strong it was making his hair hurt. _  
  
You were raped.  
  
_The thought hit him like a blow to the stomach. It was random, the statement. Dean had gone through so much trouble to blank it out of his memory and suddenly, there, laying in the dark almost a two weeks later, he had actually used the word. Oh god, he'd used the word. Rape._ Raped.  
  
_Dean rolled onto his back and tried to take deep breaths as quietly as he could, so Sam wouldn't wake up, but suddenly his chest was heavy, it was tight, like an enormous hand was wrapped around him. Panic settled into him like he couldn't remember ever feeling before. Blossoming in his chest and spreading up his neck and face was a heat so intense he thought his skin might be burning.  
  
When, in his horrible panic, Dean realized he wasn't going to catch his breath this way, he pushed the covers off of himself and stumbled into the washroom, closing the door quietly behind him.  
  
Then he lowered himself to the ground, his legs shaking. Dean, panting and wheezing, wrapped his arms around his middle and tried to concentrate, but he couldn't get his breath, he couldn't breathe, he need air, he tipped his head back and gasped, eyes rolling back into his head then back down, vision swimming, he was dizzy, he, he --  
  
Was raped.  
  
A sob was ripped from him, torn from the depths of his soul by the cold, trembling hand of reality. He clapped a hand to his mouth, smothering the noises that suddenly wouldn't stop. He was wheezing and crying, gasping, his hand slick with tears and sweat and snot, saliva. He gagged and wept and gasped for breath, his body unable to decide what it wanted to do, how it wanted to deal.  
  
The harder he tried to forget the pain of his body giving in to the vampire's intrusion, to the blood running down the back of his legs and under his face, the harder it was to get the images out of his mind.  
  
The harder he tried to forget the way he'd given up, gone limp, accepted that Sam had been killed by vampires just on the other side of the wall, the harder it was to forget that he had just let it happen to him, that he just --  
  
Sam. _ Sam is going to hear you.  
  
_Dean's legs continue to shake violently. He didn't standing, but he did fumble through blurry, swimming vision to grab a hand towel off the rack in front of him. He pressed it to his face, panting into it, feeling his hammering heartbeat slow.  
  
Defend Sammy, save Sammy. Don't let Sammy see you like this. He'll hear you. He'll come help you. He'll know you were raped, that you gave up. He'll never let himself rely on you again.  
  
With the small amount of will power that Dean possessed, he controlled his breathing, used the training his father had given him to take the reigns back. He wiped at his face and straightened up, chest still heaving, but he let his legs drop in front of him and pressed his palms to the floor at his sides, inhaling for five beats, and exhaling slowly.  
  
He repeated until his breathing was at least quiet, his legs shaking under him still and silent tears were running over his cheeks, down his neck.  
  
He'd cut it too close. Sam could have heard. Next time he wasn't going to make that mistake._  
  
\- - -  
  
Sam shook his head, staring with glazed eyes at the floor. “He was breathing really fast and loud, obviously. I could see his shadow under the door, it looked like he was sitting there--”  
  
“Why didn't you help him?” Castiel interrupted, frustrated. Angrily, he irrationally wondered why Dean didn't pray for help. With equal anger, Castiel blamed himself for not keeping a better eye on his charge.  
  
Sam's head snapped up and he matched Castiel's angry glare, shooting it right back, paired with a snarl of, “Because we both know Dean damn well! He was freaking out and hyperventilating and crying really hard. You know how he is around me,  _about_  me! He wouldn't have opened the door, he hates looking weak or pathetic or whatever else he's convinced himself he is... Especially around me. He has a complex.”  
  
Sam finished off with an air of defeat, perhaps of shame. He had wanted to intervene, he had wanted to. Somber, Sam added, “It wasn't like I went back to sleep or lay there happily listening to my big brother have a meltdown, okay? I actually got up to go break down the fucking bathroom door and take care of him, but he had calmed down by the time I made my decision. I think I'd caught him near the end of it... and besides it had been the first time in three weeks I'd actually heard him express some kind of emotion other than hungry, horny, freaky-happy, and pissed off. I thought... I thought maybe it was best to let him get it out of his system. I thought maybe it was a good thing, an improvement.”  
  
Castiel exhaled slowly through his nose, looking away from Sam. He could not blame him. He could practically smell the shame, the regret, and the fear radiating off Sam. He also felt shame, regret, and fear himself. No one was to blame and yet everyone was the blame for this. Castiel should have told Sam what happened three weeks ago, on the night it had happened, screw Dean's wishes. Because it was suddenly and startlingly apparent that Dean wasn't 'handling this' as he'd said he would. He wasn't handling well enough alone. Suddenly Castiel felt stupid. If anyone could help Dean find himself again and 'handle' the situation, it was Sam.  
  
They were both quiet for a moment before Sam turned to Cas and rested a hand on his shoulder, pulling the angel out of his reverie. Looking deeply into the worried green eyes at his side, it became obvious what Castiel had to do... Sam just had to ask first.  
  
And he did. Sam stared at Castiel and asked, “Please tell me what happened that night with the vampires. Cas, ever since we drove back to the motel and we put him to bed, he hasn't been the same. He woke up the next day and he was different. He tries really hard to be himself, but I'm not stupid and this is really bad this time. He's worse than when he came back from Hell.”  
  
No, Castiel thought, he just hadn't recovered since Hell. They just hadn't seen it.  
  
“I can't tell you, Sam,” Castiel confessed. “I promised Dean I wouldn't tell you.”  
  
Something broke in Sam and he snapped. He shot up onto his feet and whirled around on Castiel, his finger pointing accusingly, his face red and a vein popped out in his neck.  
  
“ _No!_ ” He yelled, furious, “You do not get to do that! Do you know how much fucking shit the three of us have gotten into because of secrets? Cas, I can not do this alone and you're fucking crazy if you think I'm going to let you deal with this yourself! Dean is my  _brother._  I --”  
  
“Sam, I said I couldn't tell you, but I didn't say I can't help you find out!” Castiel yelled over him, satisfied when Sam suddenly stood up straighter and swallowed thickly, backing down. Castiel let a silence fall over them and then he looked around, scowling. “Where is Dean?”  
  
The bobbing of Sam's adam's apple and the nervous blinking of his eyes had Castiel's eyes narrowing.  
  
“That's why I prayed,” Sam admitted, “I prayed because he took off. We were on a hunt today and this vetala got him from behind. She busted his wrist pretty bad and... and,”Sam swallowed thickly, having trouble keeping his voice from rasping, “And he just lost it. It's like he forgot how to kill her. Dropped his knife and went into fucking hysterics. She tried to bite his neck and .. he just was going to let her.”  
  
Castiel interrupted, his voice urgent, “Was he bit? That kind of poison--”  
  
Sam shook his head, “No. I fought her off of him, but after I killed her he just took off, took the Impala before I could even stop him.”  
  
Castiel rose to his feet, teeth clenched. Through them, he growled, “You just let him leave?”  
  
Sam gestured with his hands, looking frustrated, “You and I both know we don't 'let' Dean do anything! He got in the car and locked it before I could get in, then he took off, Cas! I didn't just let my injured brother fuck off to God knows where. He was freaking out, having some kind of hysterical meltdown, I couldn't control him, okay?”  
  
Castiel raised a hand and ran it over his eyes in a very human show of frustration. He exhaled slowly through his nose and looked up at Sam, who was trying very hard to look angry and strong, though his turned up chin and narrowed, shining eyes made it ever more apparent that he was confused and desperate for help.  
  
“Look, I know you can't sense him because of our rib sigils, but I know where he is. Too many times I've lost him in that car, so there's a tracking device in it, not to mention on his GPS. I called you because I need you to go find him, talk some sense into him. Whatever happened that night... he trusts you with it. I saw how you were with him after, how you talked him into laying down and sleeping. I'm not stupid, Cas. Something happened to him, you know about it, and if you're the one he wants to trust with it, then fine... but just bring him back. Something isn't right with him. If he wants to talk to you over me...” Sam's voice broke and he looked down, shoving hands into his pockets. “Sometimes I think he trusts you over me, and it bugs me --”  
  
Castiel reached up and placed a hand on the side of Sam's neck, startling the brother into looking up at him, eyes slightly wide, confused. Hurt.  
  
Quietly, Castiel said steadily, “Dean Winchester cherishes you above everyone else on this earth, including myself, Sam. This is not about trust, this is about love. He loves you and this is why he's ordered me not to say anything. I believe he thinks that if you knew about this, you may not love him as much, that you'll look at him differently.”  
  
Sam's eyes shone, his head shaking. “What? No! I could never --”  
  
“I know, Sam.” Castiel said softly, nodding, pressing his fingers firmly against the bumps of Sam's spine, “I know that about you, Sam. Now listen, I've promised not to say anything, however...” Castiel paused and Sam looked upon him with such hope it nearly broke him. “I'll go to Dean, I'll see what I can do. If he wants to tell you afterwards then all the better. I don't think he can handle himself this time, I think... he needs our help. Both of us.”  
  
Sam nodded. He turned around, strode across the room, leaned over his laptop and furiously scribbled an address on the back of a napkin. Castiel took one look at it and disappeared.  
  
\- - -  
  
_There had been no plan. Dean had no plan. What he did know was that he couldn't be around Sam any longer. He couldn't hold it together anymore around Sam today. He had to get away before his broke further in front of him.  
  
He heard his brother pounding at the Impala's windows when Dean locked him out, he heard Sam yelling for him to stop, to open the door, he heard his asking him where he was going, but the Impala eventually gained speed and Dean lost him, glancing only once into the rear view mirror at his brother, watching his brother running after the car he wasn't going to catch up with.  
  
Let Sam wonder, thought Dean. He could wonder all he wanted to. It would always be better to him actually knowing that Dean was going insane. It would be better than absolutely losing it in front of him... more than he already had.  
  
Dean wasn't able to help it. All it took was for the vetala to snap his wrist. Sense memory had overcome him and suddenly he was right back to being covered in blood, bent over the Impala and absolutely paralysed with fear. He remembered the vetala pinning him to the wall, his face pressed against the wood panelling, her breath against his neck, ready to bite him.  
  
What happened next was a blur. He remembered screaming and then he remembered being dizzy, feeling pressure in his chest and not enough air in his lungs. He remembered his legs shaking and burning as he ran, suddenly free. He'd practically fallen down the stairs. Next thing he knew he was locking the Impala doors against even his own brother, driving one handed, driving too fast towards a destination he didn't understand. He shouldn't be driving, with his wrist swelling to twice it's size, with sweat pouring down his face and spine, soaking through his shirt, his mouth gaping as he gasped for breath, his limbs shaking.  
  
Once again, minutes passed in a blur and the next thing he knew he was handing cash to a disturbed looking motel clerk. He remembered wheezing, “I'm fine. Leave me alone.”  
  
A couple shaky minutes and when he was lucid again he was in a motel bathroom, tearing off his clothing. He turned on the shower and stood under the water, inhaling as evenly as he could, trying his best to calm down.  
  
For a moment it almost worked. For a couple minutes he actually calmed down, running his good hand through his hair and rubbing cheap, hard motel soap over his body, convincing himself he was cleaning blood off of him, that the water was washing away any traces of vampire hands on his hips and around his wrists.  
  
But then he took one look at his fucked up wrist and his legs began to give out underneath him. He lowered himself into the tub, and pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing his face against the wall, eyes burning and blurry, thick warm tears running, mingling with cool water._  
  
\- - -  
  
Castiel landed in the center of a small motel kitchenette. He looked around slowly, then followed the smell of Dean and the sound of water running in the shower. The angel approached the open bathroom door slowly, torn between not wishing to breach privacy – ' _Personal space, Cas. We talked about this.'_ \-- and wishing to save Dean no matter what.  
  
Castiel walked into the small, cold room slowly, his face set, readying himself. Castiel was an angel, he was a warrior. He could face anything... except when it came to Dean. Dean made him... human.  
  
But he walked in with his bearings gathered and a straight face. Castiel stepped over discarded clothing and stopped by the side of the tub, looking down at Dean who didn't budge.  
  
Dean was staring straight ahead, his eyes red and glazed, coated in thick tears that continued to fall down his blank face. He sat, naked, with one arm around his knees. The water wasn't draining at the pace it was falling so it nearly filled the tub. It wouldn't worry Castiel before but the water ran icy cold, circulating a cool breeze through the room.  
  
The angel sat on the edge of the tub, his coat falling into the water, though he paid no mind. Dean didn't react at first, didn't meet his eyes, didn't move, or make a sound. Finally, Castiel reached out, turning off the water. With the sound of water splashing gone, Dean's exhale and sniffling suddenly sounded amplified in that small space. Weakly, he looked up at Cas, a whirl of emotions playing out on his face. Shame was the most prominent.  
  
“Dean--”  
  
“Everything is so difficult, Cas.” Dean choked out, his voice gone, broken and raspy, like he'd wept himself hoarse. Castiel looked down at him, then slid off the edge of the bathtub, lowering himself down onto the floor, so he was at even eye level with Dean. From within the water, Dean continued, staring ahead, speaking with whatever voice he had left, with whatever shred of emotion he had left to bare, “I knew life was tough and I know I was never meant to get everything I wanted, but I just... I just wished something – anything would be easy for me. I lost my mom, my dad, I went to Hell, I saved the world, but... but. I... shit. Shit, I just want to be okay for five minutes.”  
  
When Dean began to cry in earnest, when he curled forward and rested his forehead against his knees, shoulders shaking, Castiel acted naturally. In most situations, he had no human-type instincts. He acted as a warrior, as an angel. But with Dean, being human was so easy. He reached forward and rubbed his back, not saying a word. Castiel wanted to reassure Dean that he was supposed to get everything, that he deserved everything, that life wasn't supposed to be this tough, that maybe Dean would be okay. But Castiel also knew that Sam would be the only person these words would mean anything coming from.  
  
“I tried so hard to shake this one off. But I... I just couldn't this time. You saw me,” Dean rasped suddenly, his face a mask of pain as he raised it from his knees, turning towards Castiel, shaking harder under Cas' hand. “You saw me in Hell. You've seen me at my worst. You've seen me do worse things than that vampire did to me. You've... you've probably seen that happen to me in Hell a hundred times. 'cause it happened, y-you know. They used to fucking rip me apart down there, they... they used to violate me in ways that there aren't even words for.”  
  
If Castiel wasn't an angel, maybe if he was a human, he might have looked at Dean in that moment and thought Dean was frightening. Because he was. Dean sat there, naked and shaking but furious, his voice steady and dripping with self-loathing as he talked about Hell.  
  
But Castiel knew Dean better, he'd made him from his grace and he'd touched his soul – nothing about Dean was frightening. Dean was just  _frightened._  
  
Right on cue, Dean changed from furious, to sick and small, shaking and looking at Castiel with fear. He whispered, “I think I'm at the end of my rope, Cas. After Hell I could handle what happened to me because... I deserved it, y'know? Something like that. I chose to be there, I signed up for hell fire and torture and ra... and all of it. It was okay because I'd saved Sammy. When I got back to earth I remembered and it still hurt but I could deal with it because it was for something.  
  
“But... Cas,” Dean whispered brokenly, “Cas, I didn't deserve it this time.”  
  
Castiel and Dean stared at each other for a long time, Dean still trembling under Castiel's hand, tears still running down his face and shoulders still shaking. It took Castiel a couple minutes to realize his own cheeks were wet. He ran a hand under his eyes and got on his feet, shrugging off his coat. He turned it around and held it open for Dean. For a moment, Dean looked like he might breakdown again, but when Castiel gave his coat a sturdy little shake, the righteous man got to his feet, and stepped into the coat, letting Castiel wrap it around him and then helped him out of the bathtub, seating him on the edge.  
  
The angel got down on his knees in front of Dean, hands wrapped in the lapels of his own trench coat, his gaze fixed firmly on Dean's face. With his head turned up and tilted to the side, he said his next words slowly, clearly, and with all of his heart.  
  
“Dean Winchester, you never deserved this life of hardship. You never will deserve any hardships to come. You deserve the world, you deserved to be saved, and you  _never_ deserved this. You never deserved any of this pain, do you understand? For the rest of your long life, I will be here to save you.”  
  
Dean looked down at Castiel, his chin trembling. He remained silent, trying to hold himself together. With that, hoping that he'd reached Dean in some way, Castiel added softly, “And so will Sam.”  
  
“I can't.” Dean breathed, his eyes fluttering shut, squeezing. “I can't... Please, don't tell him.”  
  
“Once you told me that when family asks you not to do something, you don't do it, remember?”  
  
Dean nodded, drops of water dripping from his hair, soaking into the thin material of Castiel's trench coat. “Exactly.”  
  
Castiel nodded slowly, then gave lapels of his coat another small shake, raising his gaze to meet Dean's, his eyebrows furrowed.  
  
“Then please don't ask me to hid this from Sam anymore.”  
  
Dean physically started under his hands, shaking his head, “No. No, no, no. Please, Cas. Please--”  
  
“Dean,” Castiel said firmly, his voice raised over Dean's mumbles, “Dean, he knows. I don't need to tell him anything. He knows you, he knows something is wrong.  _You_  know that he knows. You have all this time. You must tell him, Dean. He has to hear it from you because if you don't tell him he won't know how to help. Don't let this be one more burden you carry alone, Dean.”  
  
“He can't know,” Dean rasped, “if he knows then... fuck, then I'm just weak, I'm a problem. I have to take care of Sam, Cas. Not the other way around. I --”  
  
“You've raised Sam to be the best person he could be, Dean. Never in his life has Sam ever doubted your love for him,” Castiel said firmly, bringing one hand up to rest on the side of Dean's neck, feeling his pulse hammering against his palm. Dean listened, quietly, eyes shining. Castiel carried on, his gaze unbreakable.  
  
“You will always be Sam's hero. This will never change. Let Sam carry you for a little while.”  
  
Ignoring him, Dean muttered, “I need to take care of Sam. I need to be okay for Sam. I... I can handle this that way.”  
  
“You won't be able to take care of him if you can't take care of yourself. You are not handling this, Dean. You're suffering alone.” Suddenly aware that he might be too harsh, Castiel ran a hand over Dean's hair and said quietly, “You once said you considered me family, you considered me a brother. Let me take care of my family. Let me bring Sam to you. I won't tell him anything. It'll be up to you what's to be said.”  
  
It took Dean a while to reply. He didn't look at Cas for a couple minutes, his gaze fixed in his lap, his fingers fiddling with the coat's belt. Then he raised a shaky hand and wiped his nose on his wrist, nodding slowly.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Cas brushed the knuckle of his index finger along Dean's jaw, mimicking the nod, “Okay.”  
  
Dean looked up at him, sniffing but no longer crying. Finally, he was calm. “Yeah. Okay. Get him.”  
  
Getting to his feet, Castiel nodded. He disappeared for a moment, then re-appeared with Dean's clothing, folded up and no longer wrinkled, on the floor. An attempt to heal Dean's wrist was turned down with an adamant shake of Dean's head.  
  
“Don't. I'll just wrap it up. I'd rather it that way. Can I get my clothes?”  
  
He handed the pile to Dean, asked him if he needed help putting them on, but Dean declined. With that, Castiel flew off.  
  
\- - -  
  
Castiel and Sam landed outside of Dean's motel room. The two exchanged meaningful glances with each other before Sam wrapped his hand around the door knob, giving it a gentle push.  
  
Castiel had warned Sam; Be forgiving. Most importantly, listen. It was not about what Dean was hiding, it was about Dean.  
  
But, Castiel realized as Sam walked into the motel room, he hadn't needed to warn Sam about anything. Sam's face was strong, his eyes were soft and already forgiving. He walked towards the bathroom with purpose. Only, he jumped a bit when Dean stepped out from the bathroom, unsteady, his hand gripping the door, his other wrist – broken – was cradled to his stomach.  
  
He looked like a wreck. Dean had apparently put on his clothing over wet skin, the fabric damp and clinging to him, his t-shirt wrinkled now and sticking to him all strangely. His jeans were on, but the button was undone at the top, probably too difficult to be done with one hand. Dean himself was still wet, rivulets of cold water running down his neck from his sopping wet hair, his bare feet leaving wet foot prints on the tile behind him. Dean looked from Cas to Sam, resting on his brother's face, his own eyes shining with emotion, still red rimmed. Dean looked miserable, his skin still pale, his body still trembling – whether at this point it was from being under freezing cold water for a long time or from hardly being able to hold himself together.  
  
Sam stepped towards him, shaking his head.  
  
“Dude, your wrist is huge. God, Dean.” Sam breathed, quickly moving to take off his hoodie... A hoodie he hadn't been wearing earlier, Castiel noticed. Sam wrapped it around Dean, fiddling with it until it hung securely over him.  
  
“People keep doing that for me, you'd think I don't have my own clothes.” Dean murmured, trying to flash Sam a smile, though it wavered and fell flat.  
  
Sam reached forward and took his brother by the upper arm, leading him to the bed, where he sat him down. “Maybe if you weren't shaking like a leaf every ten seconds, no one would have to. Dude, I can't even imagine how much that hurts right now, it is so swollen. Cas, can you do something --”  
  
But when Sam turned around, Cas had cleared away, gone from the room. Sam nearly cursed the angel, but then he saw the first aid kit that was conveniently left on the table and he nearly kissed the ground Cas had been standing on moments earlier. What a ridiculous, amazing angel.  
  
Sam fetched it and returned to his brother, pulling up a chair in front of him, taking his wrist gently and placing it in his lap. For several minutes, the brothers sat in silence, Sam wrapping up Dean's wrist with intense concentration. He was bursting to know what was wrong with Dean but he also heard Castiel's voice in his head telling him not to pry.  
  
“This looks about done.” Sam sighed, running his fingers gentle over the wrist, inspecting his job. “I'll have to check again to see if we have any ibuprofen for you though, I --”  
  
“It was rape, Sam.”  
  
Sam had just been about to let go of Dean's forearm when the broken, hoarse whisper cut him off and made every muscle in his body freeze. Sam stared at Dean, shocked.  
  
“Wh... what?”  
  
When Dean's face crumpled and he bowed his head, Sam choked. “God. Oh God, Dean.”  
  
Dean covered his eyes with his good hand, whispering rapidly, spitting out his confession with all the pain, self-loathing, and shame that he possessed, “The vampire. He wanted revenge, so... so he raped.. he, uh... he... fuck!”  
  
Dean began breathing hard, hand pressed against his eyes. Sam sat there in horror, his mouth and eyes wide, his free hand hovering in the air above his brother's shoulder, unsure if he should touch him, if he was allowed, if it was okay.  
  
Dean went on though, words pouring out of him like vomit. “Fuck. Sam, I just took it. I just lay there and took it because I thought you were dead. He told me his girls were going to kill you, that it would be quick for you, and – and then so much time went by and y-you didn't show up, I thought you were dead. I couldn't handle it so I just l-let it happen, I didn't even fight back.”  
  
Weeping opening now, Dean raised his broken wrist, wrapping his arm around his face, trying to hide from Sam. He seemed unable to stop talking, however, the words being ripped out of him. “I just fucking hid after, even when I knew someone was trying to save me, when Cas showed up. I fucking hid under the Impala like a kid.”  
  
“Dean, you were scared, it's okay --”  
  
“It's not okay! Nothing is fucking okay. The older I get, the harder it is to just let this shit slide. I – I can't deal with this stuff the way I could when I was younger, before Hell. It doesn't just roll off of me.”  
  
“Dean--”  
  
“No, Sam! No! I should have fought, tried to get to you anyway, even if you were dead. But I just gave up, I didn't even try. I let you down, Sam.”  
  
Dean tried to curl forward, to hide but Sam had enough. He swept under Dean and sat him up, wrapping his arms around his brother.  
  
“Shut up, Dean. Shut up. You're so stupid.”  
  
Dean nodded furiously, agreeing. Sam growled, pressing his lips to the top of his brother's head. “No, you fucking idiot. You're not stupid. You're not supposed to be okay and you're not supposed to make this about me. This is not about me. I'm here. Dean, look at me.”  
  
Sam took Dean's chin and forced him to uncoil, to look him in the eye. From a mask of misery, two green orbs stared back at him, expectant and shining with despair. Gently, Sam whispered, “Look at me.  _I'm okay_. I'm okay because of you. I am the way I am because of you, because you've been taking care of my since I was in diapers. I'm okay, Dean.  
  
“Something really horrible happened to you. Something really horrible on top of a bunch of other really horrible things. I'm glad this isn't rolling off of you. I'm tired of everything rolling off you. This is not supposed to slide. You're supposed to be sad and you're supposed to break down when really fucked up shit happens to you. God, Dean.”  
  
Sam wiped at Dean's face, trying to get rid of tears. He pressed down at the side of his head where his hair was starting to dry in weird directions. Dean gazed at him, eyes shining and chin trembling, but no longer weeping. He was exhaling shakily, blinking rapidly.  
  
Sam tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie, forcing a smile on his face. “Let's get this on you properly. How's that for a start?”  
  
Dean sniffled and swallowed, “I'm not a baby.”  
  
It didn't escape Sam's notice that Dean was letting him help slide his arms into the sleeves, though. Sam took it as a peace offering, smiling and reaching out as well, asking, “Oh, yeah? D'you know who cries?”  
  
Dean brushed a tear from his cheek as it fell, muttering, “Babies.”  
  
“Exactly.” Sam teased, ruffling Dean's hair. “Babies cry. And Cas is already the baby in the group so don't take that away from him.”  
  
Despite Sam's attempt at humor, Dean pressed a hand to his eyes and looked ready to break down again. Sam gripped that hand and dragged it away from his face, squeezing his fingers gently, his eyes softening and his tone hushed.  
  
“Hey. You'll be fine. We're gonna do it together. You and me. I haven't forgotten about all those times you took care of me. I'm going to do the same thing for you too now and you're going to let me. Don't let this go to your head, but you're kind of a big deal to me so there won't be any checking out or giving up. Okay?”  
  
Dean nodded and when he looked at Sam, in his gaze there might've been something that looked like hope. It was small, but it was enough that Sam enveloped him in another hug, this time not letting go. Not even when he went on.  
  
“Good. And when you feel better, we're taking a real vacation for a bit before hunting again. We kind of earned it. Grand Canyon 'cause I know you've always wanted to go. And then you're taking me to Disney Land because Dad never took me even though I begged that entire summer and you know you've always secretly wanted to go there too.”  
  
“Some days I don't even want to get out of bed.”  
  
His brother's quiet admission had Sam's eyes burning, had him squeezing his eyes tightly, fighting off a lump in his throat. But he shrugged and said, “Then you can stay in bed those days. We don't have to do a damn thing until you're ready. Just promise me something?”  
  
“Go for it.” His brother murmured, tired.  
  
Sam shifted against Dean, sitting back, fixing his brother with a determined expression. “If you need to ... to do this again, don't. Just tell me, just tell me you're not feeling yourself and we'll deal with it. I know you might not be okay for a while, but for fuck's sake, Dean, don't go, don't run. Stay close so we can all take care of each other. Have the chick flick moment. Talk to me. Talk to Cas.”  
  
From behind him, he heard the flapping of wings. Sam turned to watch as Castiel approached them.  
  
Castiel swotted Dean's shoulder, “Move.”  
  
Shocked, Dean released a small huff of laughter and scooted over on the bed, making room for Castiel - who looked bizarre in just his suit - to sit down. From his pocket, he retrieved a bottle of ibuprofen and shook it between the three of them.  
  
“I know you want to heal yourself this time.” Castiel said softly, eyes sparkling at Dean. He popped open the cap and held the open bottle out to Dean, “But I figure I'd at least help take the pain away.”  
  
Dean reached forward with his good hand and accepted two pills, then swallowed them. After grimacing, he looked over at Castiel and said meaningfully, “Thank you.”  _For saving me._  
  
Castiel smiled a small smile, his teeth flashing for a moment and tiny crows feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He nodded and replied, “You're welcome, Dean. I told you, I will always be here.”  
  
Dean nodded, then looked at his small family and sighed. “Good. Because I want to get the fuck out of here and eat. I'm starved.”

 

_Fin_


End file.
